Well. It is offical. My baby isn't much of a baby anymore. She is a full blown, independent, demanding, bossy, incredibly cute preschooler. She talks in paragraphs. She learns new things every day. She dances and twirls like no one is watching. She lives for the glass slipper to fit. Okay, yes, yes, she IS my daughter. She was bound to like the whole Cinderella story, right? The shoe fettish is genetic, so maybe I should take the credit for that. She is unbearably cute and loveable one minute and makes us want to pull our hair out the next. All in the day of a three year old.
I've never been one that gets overly emotional on her birthdays. I cried on her first birthday, but it was more because I had to work and couldn't spend the day with her than it was that she was getting older. It has always been my philosophy that if we are doing the job God intended for us, as parents, then our children should grow up, they should get older and become more independent. We'll see if I feel the same way when she turns 16.